


Liability

by cystemic



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-04
Updated: 2018-01-04
Packaged: 2019-02-28 05:59:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13265178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cystemic/pseuds/cystemic
Summary: Cipher 9 returns to Imperial Intelligence Headquarters to file his final report on the events that occurred aboard the Dominator.





	Liability

It was another dismally depressing day on Dromund Kaas which saw the capital engulfed by a downpour of rain. The lights of the city were barely visibly through the constant lashings of water. And yet, it was still somehow hot, humid, suffocating. Oppressive.

 _"Just like the Empire,"_ Cipher 9 thought to himself as the speeder touched down on the platform.

He stepped out of the vehicle and a busy Minder quickly took his place, rushing into the temporary oasis from the storm. 

Soren looked up as the rain beat down upon him. The tiny droplets evaporated as soon as they made contact with his burning red eyes. The water slid off his custom made uniform without leaving a mark and not a single blue hair on his head was moved or moistened, courtesy of the flexicrete hairspray he employed every morning.

The officers around him however, made quick short trips between cover and shelter as he strode down the center of the slippery speeder stop. It was just outside the Imperial Intelligence wing of the Citadel - a looming monolith of black and red. Dark storm clouds crowned the towers of its impressive and imposing form. The centre of the Sith Empire. Its beating black heart.

As a Cipher Agent, Soren mostly just drifted in and out of Imperial Intelligence Headquarters. Once he received his orders, there was little reason to linger and he left as much evidence of his existence and employment as a spectre in deep space. 

The many Minders, Watchers and Fixers who milled about the dark hallways of Intelligence HQ never stopped to give him more than a cursory glance or a derogatory sniff. They couldn't insult him to his face but there was no restriction upon what was said behind his back. Murmurs of disgust about his skin, his eyes, his heritage, whispers of malice that decried him in every possible way.

He was a spook. And a spook from an entirely alien planet.

But no one could argue with his results.

The Imperials had changed their tone somewhat after the incident aboard the Dominator. None of them would be sitting at their viewscreens or bustling through the dark corridors with datacards in hand if it hadn't been for Cipher 9. And they knew it.

Their attitudes had become more accepting of late. And a few of the other Ciphers had even ventured to shake his hand but there was tension in the air. Soren could feel it. Hear it. The arrythmia in the hearts of those he passed. The murmur of fear in their words, said without confidence, said to appease, not to share.

As he silently walked through the high ceilinged halls of Intelligence HQ he began to wonder if it was really so bad to be ignored. For now he was feared. 

Fear was the weapon Darth Jadus had endeavoured to use against the galaxy and unintentionally passed along to Soren by association. The Sith Lord had uncommonly chosen an alien as his champion and no doubt had some hand in his promotion. 

He was to be a tool. A pawn in the Dark Councillor's affairs. But Jadus had misjudged him. He was positive that an alien could never be loyal to the Sith Empire that hated him. Confident that a Chiss would be too pragmatic to pass up an opportunity for promotion. And he was certain in the fact that Soren was a gullible fool.

A terrible mistake.

Cipher 9 shut down the Eradicators and shot the console before the Dark Lord could stop him. The tet-a-tet that ensued was a distraction more than a battle and Soren managed to trap the Sith behind energy fields long enough to escape. His true goal had been to subdue Jadus long enough to destroy the Dominator and he didn't need more than speed, skill and a little luck to pull it off.

He'd said as much to Keeper and Watcher 2 but somehow his words hadn't inspired relief or confidence. Only fear. The stench of it followed him wherever he went and appearing behind Watcher 6 without a sound sent a wave of it washing over him.

"Ah!" The man jumped. "Oh, it's you. I'm sorry." 

"Cipher 9, reporting for duty," Soren told him calmly, ignoring the Human's worry. "Watcher 2 sent for me."

"Watch- oh, you mean Keeper?" Six breathed, clutching at his heart. "She's in her office."

Soren nodded. 

Watcher 2 would have been promoted after their successul mission aboard the Dominator. He could think of no other Human more capable of filling the seat. But what had become of the man who vacated it, he wondered.

Soren turned and walked away, followed by the worried eyes of every Watcher in the Pits and several Minders and Fixers too. Agents intently listening to their handlers couldn't help but glance up, thinking their gaze undetectable but to the perceptive Chiss, it was polarizing.

Something was wrong.

And he'd walked right into it. They told him not to bring any of his crew. They told him it would just be paperwork. Bureacratic nonsense that needed to be done. But now he knew it was a lie. They wanted him alone, unarmed and vulnerable. 

They failed to deduce that he was always alone, rarely unarmed and vulnerable not even in his sleep; the knife and blaster under his pillow could attest to that. If they wanted a fight, he could give it to them. If they wanted him dead, they would need to exercise some considerable effort to realize their wish.

He wondered impulsively how many he could take before they cut him down. A dozen? A hundred? A floor or two?

Each step he took up to the Keeper's office echoed in his ears so he softened his gait until they made no sound at all. The enemy wouldn't hear him coming. But they had holocams no doubt. They would see.

Everyone would see. And he couldn't let his cover slip. The mask of Cipher 9 had to remain firmly affixed to his face, lest they discover who he really was. Why he was here. Unless they already had...

"Minister, I've heard you voice your opinions once. I do not need to hear them again," a deep voice resonated from Keeper's Office. 

Soren recognized it from many years past. Rumbling and cultured and laced with just a hint of malice and glee. It was the first voice he'd heard on Dromund Kaas, the voice that had driven him to within an inch of his sanity. 

"My Lord, I was simply trying to emphasize the effectiveness of our Agent. To do something this drastic, it's-"

"Necessary," Darth Baras finished. "Given the nature of his next mission and his recent actions against a former member of the Dark Council, we cannot have any uncertainties as to where his loyalties lie. You understand."

"Yes, my Lord, I-" He looked up. "Ah, Cipher 9."

Soren walked into the steely grey office he'd entered so many times. It hadn't changed. The walls were still plastered with viewscreens and terminals, the table at the far end overflowed with datacards and overlays and the durasteel floor shone as the cold white light beamed down upon it. 

He recognized the former Watcher 2 behind the desk. Keeper now. And the former Keeper stood not far in front. Presumably the Minister of Intelligence considering how the Sith had addressed him. And to his side, the large and venerable Darth Baras, far girthier than the one in his memories. Promotion and wealth had made him complacent it seemed.

Soren saluted and bowed.

"My Lord," he said. "Sir." He nodded to both the Keeper and the Minister in turn.

His arms quickly squared behind his back as he stood to attention, feeling for the vibroknife hidden under his belt.

"You summoned me," he said.

"Yes," the Minister confirmed gravely.

Soren watched the look on Keeper's face sour. 

She couldn't meet his eye, she was staring at her desk. The Minister was trying to uphold some sense of decorum but Soren was a master at reading microexpressions and he could see the guilt, the frustration. They didn't like what was happening. They disagreed with Darth Baras. And why wouldn't they? He was an asset they couldn't afford to lose.

The Sith was masked in lorasteel repoussage. An eerie face far more appealing than his own but Soren remembered the man behind the mask. Human. Pale. Dark brown eyes. Receding gray hair. Perhaps it had finally crawled off his head in search of greener pastures? And the face that once commanded respect was now bloated and old judging by the rest of his body.

Soren had no fear for him. Only contempt.

"I wish it were under better circumstances," the Minister told him. "But the Dark Council has reached its decision."

Soren heard the words but the whisper of footsteps behind him was louder. They moved in close but he swung around and caught the hand that was about to stab him with a syringe full of poison. The concealed vibroknife found his hand and slid effortlessly into the head of his assailant. An inconsequential grunt, he realized, as a second needle pierced his neck from behind.

Soren let the body of the agent fall to the ground, along with the blade in his hand. He could feel the poison scattering from the entry point, running through his veins into every conceivable part of his body. And then they appeared.

The Sith from the Science Bureau. Shrouded in darkness, concealed in the corners of the room but now two of them were clearly visible. Double-bladed lightsabers ignited and ready for his attack. 

_"Why?"_ he whispered. _"I served... I was loyal. You didn't have to-"_

"You _did serve,"_ Lord Baras spoke. "You _were_ loyal. Then you defeated a member of the Dark Council." He removed the syringe from his neck. "You have the Minister to thank for your life."

Soren's hand flew up to touch the wound reflexively. He could feel himself getting weaker, heavier, the familiar feeling of a sedative, not a poison.

"You're not going to kill me?" He turned to face Baras.

"Hmmm, double the dosage and you're still standing." Soren could hear the grin through which he spoke. "It seems I've underestimated you again."

"Don't fight it, Cipher," the Minister told him. "This is for your own good."

"What is?" he breathed.

"Your mind will be bound, your body controlled," Baras told him. "Through science, not the Force." There was a pause and Soren could hear the muted chuckle through the mask. "Since you don't seem to have any in you."

Soren felt cold, uncommonly cold. A side effect of the sedative perhaps. But his mind didn't stop working. 

They were going to brainwash him. He wasn't going to die. There was something he had to do. A mission they were preparing him for. They needed to know he was loyal. What happened to Jadus could not happen again.

"It's just a precaution, Cipher," the Minister said. "This is what the Council wants. Do not fight it."

Soren could feel the sedative weakening. He'd been trained to withstand worse. His body had been altered to heal worse. Soon he would regain his strength but could he kill the Sith? Should he?

No. They would brand him a traitor, despite being betrayed. He had to play the game.

"Tell me what I must do," he said.

"Drop your weapons," Baras told him curtly.

Soren took a deep breath and began disarming himself. Knives rained down on the ground as he emptied the hidden holsters all over his body. Several blasters hit the floor and he gently placed a small pouch of explosives on top of the pile. He'd come without his rifle and electroblade as a show of good faith so he raised his hands over his head and the Sith searched him further.

"He's unarmed," one of them said.

Wrong. 

Soren was a living weapon and the paltry pile of trinkets in front of him were still within reach but he didn't react, didn't fight or fly. He wasn't an animal, he was a Chiss and the greatest weapon he had was his mind.

He felt himself wilting as the sedative reached his heart, swirling through his veins and almost lost his footing.

 _"Fall,"_ Baras sneered.

"No," Soren told him, straightening up to full height. "I will stand."

The Minister of Intelligence walked up to him and laid a hand on his shoulder. 

"Come." His icy blue eyes narrowed. "And do not resist."

The elder man walked past the corpse on the floor. The two Sith let him pass and Soren followed. He saw the shadow of Darth Baras moving in behind him. A rear guard. A failsafe for any escape attempt. And the Sith at his sides.

The Minister had gone first as a sign of trust. His back was wide open. Soren could snap his spine before Baras even lifted a finger but he wasn't a fool. The Sith wanted him to retaliate. They wanted a reason to kill him. But if he went willingly, they couldn't overstep their own hypocracy. 

A strange thought suddenly occurred to him as they marched him out of the office - a brainwashed man could never be accused of disloyalty or treason.

 _Convenient,_ he thought.

His mind suddenly pulled up the image of Watcher X. A memory of Nar Shaddaa's deep prison for Imperial traitors.

_"You're brave to come to Shadow Town. This could be your future - a bomb in your head, trapped here like a criminal."_

The Minister of Intelligence walked onto the floor where the Watchers and Minders and Agents and Fixers had remained stationary, silent, waiting. To their surprise, Soren noted, Cipher 9 was being marched out in parade instead of a bodybag or on a gurney. A Sith shadowing from all sides, in control of the situation.

The Chiss held his head high, refusing to show weakness in front of these people, his so-called colleagues, who'd sat there and watched, well aware of what was about to take place. They would not see him bend, they would see him break.

His eyes discreetly scanned the room, searching for Raya but he knew she wasn't there. They would never risk another Chiss being in the room when they did this, for the same reason his crew was instructed to stay away. And it was just as well. Soren would not want them involved. 

They marched him to the turbolift and stepped inside in the same arrangement. The Minister tapped the passcodes into the terminal, inserted two code cylinders and performed a retinal scan before the turbolift car started moving. 

They rode in silence.

Soren contemplated his chances of using the hidden wrist blades in his jacket to cut the throats of both Sith at his sides. A quick stab into the Minister's cervical vertebrae, straight through the nerve. That left Darth Baras. Dark and big, looming behind him, perfectly positioned to strike him down with a bolt of lightning should he choose.

The Agent habitually formulated a plan of attack and then escape but soon realized he was wasting his time. He was going to be brainwashed. He needed to figure out how to undo what they were about to do, how to regain himself once it was finished. Would he even remember once they were done?

"Will it hurt?" he asked innocently as they travelled ever further down into the bowels of Imperial Intelligence HQ.

The Sith at his sides looked at one another and grinned slyly.

"Like nothing you've ever experienced," one of them said but Soren heard the hallmarks of a well-polished lie. 

They wanted to scare him. Very well. Then he would pretend to be frightened.

"H-how long?" he said quietly.

The cocky Sith that spoke seemed to gain confidence. He was prone to boasting, Soren could tell.

"Who knows?" He grinned. 

"A few weeks?" 

_The Truth._

"A few months?" 

_A Lie._

"A year?" 

_Blatant exaggeration._

"We don't have a year," the Minister butted in. "I expect him to be ready in two weeks."

Soren looked down, pretending to be worried. The Minister was on his side. It was the Sith he needed to appease. What else could he ask without sounding suspicious?

"Will I remember who I am?"

"Oh, you'll remember alright," the other Sith jeered. "Too bad you won't remember the pain."

"Enough," Baras intervened. "Can't you see he's baiting you for information? No more pleasantries."

Soren frowned.

"I was merely making polite conversation," he said innocently.

"I said, _silence,"_ Baras growled and Soren heard the familiar crackle of electricity in the air.

He grit his teeth and gripped his wrist, ready for impact. His uniform was insulated and the lightning that licked his body only made cursory contact but it was enough to temporarily blind him, shooting pain down his spine, paralyzing and painful.

The Chiss groaned but he didn't fall. This wasn't the first time and it wouldn't be the last. But he knew that one day, Baras would get his commupence and Soren would not have to lift a finger. He just had to survive.

The Minister threw a worried glance over his shoulder which Soren returned with a calm nod. The Force Lightning was painful, yes, but he'd learned two vital pieces of information. The procedure would take two weeks and he would have no memory of it, probably as a precaution. He needed to find some way to contact himself once it was over. A warning, a signal.

They reached the designated floor. 1072, Soren spied on the display as they left the turbolift car. Which was deep. Far deeper than he'd ever gone. He'd studied the schematics of the Citadel but never actually visited each floor. There was ample reason to suspect that all was not as it seemed but he had other matters to attend to. A mistake, he now realized.

There were two more Sith scientists waiting for them. Along with several masked and suited Fixers surrounding a hover gurney.

"That won't be necessary," the Minister of Intelligence told them curtly. "The subject has agreed to participate."

Soren remained expressionless, observing the confused disappointment on the Siths' faces. The Fixers simply shrugged and wheeled the gurney aside.

"This way." A Sith Scientist pointed.

The Minister fell into step beside the him.

"We don't often get volunteers," Another noted.

"It's not often this procedure is unwarranted, Lord Tropheus," the Minister replied stiffly.

"If there's one thing we don't get down here, Keeper, it's innocents," Tropheus scoffed. "Oh, my apologies. _Minister,_ is it now?" There was a mischievous look in his yellow eye. 

"Darth Baras, always a pleasure." He inclined his head.

"Let's get this over with."

"What's your rush, my Lord?" the other Sith asked. "Stay. It's been a while since your last visit."

"And hopefully an eternity until the next, Cyranthar," Baras voiced his displeasure.

A little trouble in hellish paradise, Soren noted. Disagreements. Classicism. Baras had been here before. Worked here, possibly. He knew these people. And he didn't want to. A secret. A little embarassing, perhaps? 

The Chiss let himself smile.

"Lovely digs," he commented as they passed through the dark hallways, quite similar to the ones upstairs with the addition of room numbers on each door and a patient file displayed on a tiny viewscreen. Experiments, Soren recognized.

"Why isn't this _thing_ bound and gagged?" Cyranthar sneered at him.

"Cipher 9 volunteered for the procedure," the Minister repeated for the sake of everyone present.

"A likely story," Tropheus smirked. "Did you give him the LV-67?"

"TMX-53," Baras butted in. "Double the dosage and none of the effect. It seems your work down here has gotten rather sloppy since I left."

"Our work remains of the highest quality," Cyranthar assured him. "The TMX line is most effective sedation serum in the known galaxy. Bar a few inconsequential side effects."

"Side effects?" Baras scoffed. "You still can't make a pure solution? Highest quality indeed."

Soren had become used to the petty squabbles between Sith, they were a weakness he could exploit and he did so now.

"I don't believe I've felt any of the side effects yet," he chanced to bait them.

Baras was so caught up in his superiority he forgot about the ordered silence.

"Ha! Ineffective is the perfect way to describe it."

"Not all subjects experience the side effects..." Tropheus said cagily.

"A sedative that doesn't sedate with or without side effects is useless." 

They continued bickering as Soren took a much more leisurely look at his surroundings. The hall was dark but no trouble for his glowing red eyes and his mind began speedreading the charts on each door as they passed along.

"Subject XD-7789. Negative reaction. Total paralysis of lower body. Severe impairment to cognitive function." In messy scrawl below, "Someone get rid of this vegetable."

The next door held more details. 

"Subject XF-665. Allergic reaction to IX serum mark 4, exhibiting signs of intense pain. Sedate and try again with new prototype."

Something called IX serum. In its fifth round of testing. He could work with a name. A quick cross reference in the Imperial archives would show him what it was.

"Subject KX-221. Killik Joiners appear most susceptible to IX serum mark 4, derived from their bodily secretions. Reprogramming in its final stages. Imprinted keyword: gargantuousness."

A brainwashing goo made from brainwashed alien bugs. Logical.

The light shone brightly on the reflective surface of the durasteel door and for a moment Soren thought he saw a Human walking beside him as they led him away. The familiar form of the bedraggled Watcher X quickly disappeared but the Chiss already knew the sedative they gave him came with side effects. 

Hallucinations, mild ones. Managable. Would the IX serum cause them too?

"Subject CDV-4455. No allergic reactions or obvious side effects to IX serum mark 5. Responds well to imprint sessions. No degradation to cognitive function. Reprogramming complete. Imprinted keyword: untopografically."

A successful candidate, Soren thought.

There would be a keyword. Several sessions spread over two weeks to avoid overstimulation. The mark five prototype had a lower rate of rejection than the mark four but he had never been allergy prone. The degradation in cognitive function was worriesome but his enhanced healing abilities ought to prevent permanent damage.

What of reversal?

"Subject XKFT-1. Previously reprogrammed. Keyword compromised. Suggested override: second round of imprint sessions with IX serum mark 5 prototype. Session 1 resulted in severe damage to neural synapses. Patient terminated. Prep for biopsy."

Rewrite. A failure in the case of this poor subject but with his enhanced healing abilities, perhaps Soren stood a chance. If he couldn't find a cure, he could simply reprogram himself. Providing he survived.

They came to a similar room in a similar hallway and the Sith abruptly brought their bickering to an end. One of them punched the keypad and the door slid open. A small room became visible as a cold light flickered to life inside. Medical bed. Several strange looking instruments, monitors and a small terminal.

"Get in," Cyranthar growled.

"What, all of us?" Soren quipped reflexively. "We're going to need a bigger room."

An invisible Force pushed him forward, shoving the Chiss so hard he tripped and fell. Soren put on a convincing show, wincing in pain as he got back up to watch Cyranthar and Tropheus follow him in. Baras, the Minister and the other Sith remained outside.

The old man gave him one final look and the door slid shut.

"Take off your clothes," Tropheus said.

"I bet you'd like that," Soren grinned mercilessly.

The Sith gave him a hearty Force shove that slammed him into the side of the bed.

"Silence, alien scum."

"The Keeper might let you run amok upstairs but down here, you get the treatment you deserve, understand?"

"You mean the Minister?" Soren continued baiting.

The fingers of Lord Tropheus sparked with electricity and Soren had just enough time to brace for impact before 

**"Aargh!"**

It wasn't a jolt like the one Baras had used to silence him. The voltage was enough to kill a man his size and suddenly Soren didn't feel as confident as before. He felt to his knees, convulsing in pain. He opened his mouth and let out an alien hiss louder than than a Nexu's.

Tropheus lifted a hand and Soren's body rose off the floor, neck first.

"One more outburst and we return you to the garbage in which you were born."

"Wait," Soren gasped. "My holocom..."

His feet dangled beneath him as he hung in the air.

"It contains classified military information," he wheezed through the tight grip on his throat. "The Minister must see it."

The invisible force constricting his neck expired and Soren fell to the ground.

"Give it here."

The Chiss obeyed and passed it to Tropheus who instantly began tapping at the device.

"It's encrypted," Soren wheezed. "Only the Minister of Intelligence has access."

"You dare to keep secrets from the Sith?"

"The intel is passed on to the Sith by the Minister. These were meant for Darth Baras."

"Baras, eh?" A smug smile spread across his face.

"Cyranthar, prep this cretin for the first injection. I'll be right back."

"Maybe I should be the one to deliver it. I mean your work here is far more important than playing courier."

"Save your boot-licking for your former master," Tropheus growled as he left the room.

Soren spotted the empty hallway. The small escort he'd warranted was gone, probably on the way back to the surface. And then the door slid shut.

"Damn it!" Cyranthar cursed, throwing up a hand. "What are you looking at?"

"I-I," Soren stammered. "I'm really sorry but I forgot to give him my datapad." He pulled out the device. "I believe this information is destined for Darth Marr himself."

"What could you possibly have that the Lord of War would find interesting?"

"Maps, trade routes, stills of the Xa Fel Shipyards in the Core. I've been there," Soren lied. "The Minister needs to decode the files. They must reach him before it's too late."

"You expect me to believe that?"

"I knew I should have given it to Lord Tropheus." Soren curled up on the ground, making himself seem smaller than he was. Vulnerable, fearful.

"Give it to me," Cyranthar snapped.

The datapad quickly exchanged hands and the Sith threw a med-gown at him in return.

"You'd better be wearing this and nothing else by the time I get back," he growled.

"Yes, my Lord." Soren bowed. "Of course."

Cyranthar rushed out of the room and Soren could hear the lock on the door clamp shut. 

_Perfect,_ he thought. He could always count on Sith ambition and rivalry to distract his enemies. 

The Chiss brushed aside the medical gown and rushed over to the terminal he'd spotted in his initial analysis of the room. The Sith had taken his datapad but he didn't need it to slice the computer. His personal effects would be scanned and filtered before being returned to him after the procedure. It would be fruitless to download any information, only to have it erased.

No, he knew what he had to do.

Watcher X had grafted a cervical implant into his spine to mask his vitals but there was just enough memory in it to store a small archive of text. If he could just find what he needed. An instruction manual. A chemical formula for the IX serum. Dossiers on previous patients. A cure. A cure.

Soren's nimble fingers raked over the keypad. Access was restricted. Several users. But to make the hack untraceble it would have to be one of two. Tropheus or Cyranthar. They would be his attending physicians. No one would think it strange if they accessed the terminal.

But it wasn't connected to the holonet. A private server. Local connection, not even wireless. Tightly secured but not from a Chiss that spent his life slicing his way through impenetrable firewalls. Imperial programming methods precipitated several exploitable loopholes in their computer systems.

Soren only needed one.

The terminal contained everything he needed to know. The IX serum was a derivative of Killik membrosia and the Imperial Science Bureau's line of LV resistance inhibitors. Thirty milligrams per kilo administered to the subject followed by a session of speech therapy while the brain was receptive to commands and suggestion. Seven sessions on average for a complete imprint, bar any negative health repurcussions. 

It was all there. Everything. Except how to reverse the process. 

But he didn't have time to think about it.

Soren's eyes quickly shifted to the medical machinery protruding from the med-bed. He sorted through each device, identifying them against a catalogue of standard Imperial equipment in his eidetic memory. And then he found it.

The Pretoris automated implant neutralizer. 

The Empire had many servants and not all of them were willing or trustworthy enough to carry its secrets. A device like the Pretoris would be used to discreetly plant information on spies, infiltrators and unwitting trespassers. But Soren had a different use in mind.

He copied the data into the input section of the Pretoris interface and initiated the implant protocol on the terminal. While it loaded up, he made sure the door was locked from both sides and stripped off his uniform. The large robotic arm of the Pretoris mechanism began calibrating as he lay face down on the bed. It scanned his body and found the implant and with a deep breath, Soren tapped the button that started the procedure.

An incision was made, and then another and another, swiftly slicing through blue flesh to reveal the ferrosteel implant, glistening red with blood. 

No anaesthetic.

Few ever worked on him, much like sedatives. And then the data spike went in.

The walls of the room were soundproof and no one heard him screaming as the machine burned the data into his spinal implant. Even if voices did carry into the hallways of floor 1072, they would be drowned out in the cacophonous agony of every other victim of Imperial Science and Intelligence. Never to be heard again.

The procedure didn't take long but Soren didn't move once it was finished. The machine had sewed up the wound but the pain, the blinding pain of his flesh knitting back together kept him down.

 _"I've had worse,"_ he whispered to himself. _"I've had worse."_

His mind quickly swam into the decrepit cell in Shadow Town where a man with questionable medical expertise had installed the implant in his spine. 

_"They did this to me, they'll do it to you,"_ the words of Watcher X echoed in his ear.

Soren gasped through the pain and sat up slowly. His fingers gingerly crawled down his back and felt the ribbing of the healing wound as he pulled out the thread. A few more minutes and it would be gone. And a certain Sith would be back.

He quickly arranged his things in a pile in the corner and picked up the medical gown which lay sprawled on the ground. He raised his arms to put it on but a jolt of pain made him hiss like a Varactyl and it took several minutes to settle before he could try again. But when the door slid open, the Chiss sat very still.

The Sith traipsed into the room, apparently quite pleased with themselves.

Soren caught their good mood and contributed.

"Shall we?"


End file.
